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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431111">yoga is for posers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimpavid/pseuds/iimpavid'>iimpavid</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/It_MightBe_Love/pseuds/It_MightBe_Love'>It_MightBe_Love</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU, DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crushes, Demisexuality, Excessive Good Vibes, Fluff, M/M, Meditation, Meet-Cute, Nonbinary Character, Other, Yoga</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:41:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,854</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimpavid/pseuds/iimpavid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/It_MightBe_Love/pseuds/It_MightBe_Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Inhale the good shit, exhale the bullshit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>yoga is for posers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I still know nothing about Superboy and very little about DC as a whole; don't let the number of fics I've got in the DCU tag fool you. Credit for Tim and blame for any errors I make to The Lore, whatever that is, goes to It_MightBe_Love.</p><p>There might have been a plot to this fic once but it's been lost in the intervening months of 2020.</p><p>Unbeta'd, as usual.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The gym’s technically open twenty-four hours but yoga isn’t until 6:00 Kon usually splits the difference between traffic and the night shift and shows up at 5:30 to open the studio and get himself into a morning person headspace. He isn’t a morning person but he pretends to be one for the sake of helping his students unwind before work. He does a pretty good job of it. At least, no one’s complained about his attitude yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today’s carefully curated athleisure is galaxy-print leggings and a tank top that says “heavily meditated”. Students respond well to puns in general and that’s the whole point. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Straight Outta Savasana. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yoga is for posers. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kitten my yoga on. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Llamaste. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The more he can get them laughing or focused on themselves instead of thinking </span>
  <em>
    <span>how the fuck do I get my leg to do that</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow she is so much better at this than I am</span>
  </em>
  <span> the better. The magic usually happens just as soon as they stop looking for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They start filing in as he’s queuing up his music, some soft synthpop straddling the line between upbeat and irritating, and he takes role by sight. Gotta report numbers so he can keep his job. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning everyone,” he says once he’s got them down on the mat, got the flow started in gentle stretches and backbend prep. He says it like it’s a relief, like this class is the highlight of his week, like he’s been waiting for this all day long even though he’s only been awake for an hour. “I see some new faces hiding in back. Don’t worry, take a deep breath! Relax! I’m not gonna make you introduce yourself. Just sayin’ hi. I’m Conner. I’m glad you’re here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s the vibe of his class in a nutshell. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Inhale the good shit, exhale the bullshit.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>From Hero's Pose, savoring the small stretch in his quads, he tells them, “Whatever you’ve got going on today, your plans, your classes, your meetings, your friends, your boss, whatever it is, just let it hang with your shoes in back, alright? It won’t go anywhere, while you’re here, trust me. Take a deep breath in. Hold it. This is your time. Just for a second. Exhale. Now, let’s take it up and reach your right hand all the way back to your right heel. Just a little Half-Camel. Don’t forget to keep your chest open and breathe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a delicious energy, a room full of bodies still coming awake and limber with sleepiness, physically pulling themselves into the waking world. Mornings might be rough but he still finds himself wishing he did this more than two days a week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re doing a lot of backbends today, guys, I know, and I want you to pay attention to your body. Maybe you’re really feeling it and wanna push yourself, great! And maybe your shoulders end up screaming at you and you’re just not here for this and that’s okay, too! Just breathe. Bring it on back to center, come forward and chill in Child’s Pose for a little while, take a nap on your mat-- whatever you need to do. This is all. About. You.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He boasts a weird record out of all the yoga instructors, one he’s proud of without being too obnoxious about it: none of his students have ever fallen and hurt themselves. They might wobble and tremble strain and tip and tumble. Some of them lock their knees and faint even when he explicitly tells them </span>
  <em>
    <span>not to do that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But they always manage to find themselves square on the cushion of their mat instead of face-planting into the floor for bloody noses and concussions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In staff meetings, he tells everyone it’s the power of universal love that keeps his students aloft and unbruised. “Maybe you’re just not radiating enough positivity?” He might not brag openly… but he only has so much self-restraint.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Tim is only in this yoga class because he came back from his Wayne Industries mandated physical reported he was hypertensive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim would defy anyone to be twenty-fucking-three and the acting CEO of a multi-billion dollar multi-industry conglomerate and not be stressed as fuck (this is not factoring in the night-time vigilante activities as Red Robin, Tim's a busy guy okay).  Tim is exceptionally good at what he does, even if it means he works 80 hours weeks. Tam signs him up for the yoga class and rearranges his schedule going out six months so that he has his 6:00 slot free twice a week for yoga. She even instructs security to not let him return to the building unless he actually goes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How they'll know if he's attended is beyond Tim, but... well... it's nice to get out of the office.  Tim's done yoga before, he trained under Lady Shiva, he's mastered a plethora of physical arts that mean he's actually pretty adept at yoga. And it is relaxing. But Tim just... his head doesn't shut off. Ever. Tam once described him as a walking clenched fist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim knew she was serious when even Bruce agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So-- Tim's at yoga. In the back of the room trying to ignore both his work phone and his work phone. As well as the stares of half a dozen girls, and the whispering from two of them trying to determine if Tim is a he, a she, or a they. (It's flattering, and 90% of the time Tim just uses masculine pronouns. They is nice, but much too much effort to try and explain over and over again) -- he knows he lives in the valley of androgyny. That he's pretty, (and likes it) -- but he'd also like it if he could focus on the yoga instructor and not the 800 million other things running through his brain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There aren’t a lot of rules to Kon’s Sunrise Yoga class. Kon wouldn’t even call the rules he has “rules”. He doesn’t care what anyone wears or mind when people show up late or duck out early or ask him questions about what they’re doing. Mostly the class operates on a shared understanding of what is and isn’t rude as shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he doesn’t tell his students “you’re not allowed to talk during my class” because he never thought he’d need to because it’s common fucking courtesy to shut the fuck up and let other people get their flow on in peace and fucking quiet at 6 in the goddamn a.m. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can’t say it like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he hears Britt and Kath in gossiping and not even being quiet about it and it’s absolutely harshing his vibe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you might be thinking to yourself right about now, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Has Conner lost his mind? Legs don’t work like that, I’m not going to get my foot parallel to my face</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he muses, wandering toward the back of the class with sure steps that barely vibrate the floor. “It’s cool, don’t stress about it. You take that foot wherever it wants to go: to your shoulder, or to your stomach or just leave both your legs stretched out in front and take a forward fold. There are no wrong answers.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hunkers down between Britt and Kath whose mats are barely a foot apart anyway and asks them in a gentle whisper, “Hey, I’m kinda worried you guys might end up knocking heads later on when we get into our Wheels, so how about we get some more space between you, huh?” Paired with the most beatific smile he can muster, the one that he’s told would belong on a magazine cover if he cared about publicity at all. He stays there, grinning and radiating an uncomfortable amount of cheer, until they’ve moved far enough apart they can’t gossip without being overheard by the whole room. It’s about as subtle as a brick to the face but he’s had people thank him for bricks to the face before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile he gives his new student is a little gentler, a little more genuine and he pairs it with a wink just to be cute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> now bring that foot back out in front of you,” he says as he stands, picking up his teaching volume again, “keep it flexed, I really want you to feel this in your Achilles tendon, guys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim isn't gonna lie, he hasn't slept in two days so it might be the sleep deprivation. Because he knows there's no way Tam signed him up for yoga with Lex Luthor's only fucking child. Or that Conner Luthor is actually this hot in real life. Tim squints as he follows the man's instructions. It's like Connor got real life Photoshop making him look ridiculously handsome. Tim isn't shallow -- hell he doesn't even particularly experience sexual attraction with another person unless they're interesting or he's emotionally attached… But he's pretty sure if he weren't running on zero hours of sleep in the last forty-eight, he'd be sporting a semi for his yoga instructor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is only further compounded by the light-as-air way he makes his way around the room, Tim throws Connor a smile in thanks and brings his foot into the appropriate position. His entire spine cracks loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That garners a look of surprise, Kon’s eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline-- and then delight because, clearly, Tim’s not in pain and so Kon’s got nothing to worry about. “Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>what I’m talkin’ about!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fun fact: never in his life has Kon popped a joint, certainly not as magnificently as that, but it always sounds so satisfying. He’s kinda jealous but in a fond way and there’s no way he’s not going to stop Tim after class-- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! I just wanted to introduce myself like an actual person instead of a teacher. I don’t get a lot of new additions,” mostly because Kon’s classes are full; strings were definitely pulled to make this happen but in this case, he doesn’t mind, “but I hope you’ll come back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Probably because your class seems pretty popular. I set a reminder to buy my assistant something really nice for getting me in here." Tim laughs, "She says she's signed me up for six months of classes. So you'll be seeing me twice a week until she and the company physician decide I'm not on the early track for a heart attack by 25."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In six months we can probably add a couple years to your lifespan," Kon says, looking him over with an appraising eye, "but you might have to do some homework if you wanna make it to 35."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If I make it to 35 and still have all my hair I'll attribute you entirely when they give me a Nobel Prize."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all it takes? They really do give ‘em out like candy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They do when you're me." He grins, all cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kon's charmed. "I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'd </span>
  </em>
  <span>have a hard time telling you no." And maybe that makes him easy but he's never claimed not to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim's grin turns into a flirtatious smile, "Well. I'll have to keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> tucked away for a later date."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d better-- I’ll check.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a brief moment he’s mad at himself because he’s already winked at Tim once (there’s only so many times in one day that’s reasonable to do before people think you’re developing a facial tic) but before he can worry about it, from the corner of his eye, he spots Kath flagging him down. Like there's all that much flagging to do in a studio that holds a maximum of 12 people. She’s working on her headstand, has been after class for weeks, and can’t for love or money find the courage to just kick her feet up toward the wall and see what happens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gives Tim a rueful smile, “Duty calls. I’ll see you Tuesday morning.” </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The first rule is that there are no rules but sometimes Kon asks his class to try things for him because he’s selfish and he likes to watch them succeed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From Warrior III: “Okay, okay, so we’re here, just hangin’ out, everything is awesome, but if you wanna try something that’s gonna rock your world: close your eyes. Test your balance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcelus, front and center, immediately bursts into helpless giggles because the world always tilts a little once you actually get your eyes closed, every muscle that’s not stable makes itself known in terrible, undeniable ways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kon laughs too. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Laugh it out-- trust yourself! You’re not gonna fall!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, he won’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>let </span>
  </em>
  <span>them fall, but they don’t know that.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or after a rough night, trying his best to grab his toes in One-Legged King Pigeon and barely managing: “Wow, this sucks. If you’re doing this with me and you hate it as much as I do I want you to groan really loud on the count of three! One, two, three!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chorus of misery rises up to meet him and, magically, something in his hip releases a fraction and the last half inch comes to him because it was always there to begin with. He wraps his hands around his toes. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the first Thursday in December: “It’s freezing in here today and I dunno about you guys but I miss the sun. So we’re gonna take it easy today. Indulge in some hashtag-selfcare, 'kay? I only want you to focus on one  tiny, little thing other than your breathing: every time we hit Downward-Facing Dog I want your palms planted so firm, so strong, on the mat that the knuckle of your index finger is just like. Rooted. Solid. Get that sucker touching the mat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Midway through class he pads to the back of the room to what has become Tim’s Designated Corner and squats down before him. “Hey, is it okay if I touch your hands for a sec?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And after Tim nods he touches his palms to the tops of Tim’s hands, presses down feather-light to close the indiscernible half-millimeter of space between the knuckle of his first finger and the mat. Tells him, “This? Is right where I want you to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kon likes it when his students do well but mostly? He’s just selfish.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’s work?” Lex takes an active interest in his son’s life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fantastic! Yesterday I got Kath down into Plow without an assist so I think this means she’s finally gonna leave me the hell alone about her backbends. She’s nice but, like, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I wish she’d just ask me out already so I can turn her down and we can move on with our lives.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kon’s swanning around the penthouse kitchen with a baking sheet fresh from the oven that smells overwhelmingly of cheese and capsaicin. It looks a bit like death. He excavates what might have once been a tortilla chip and shoves it into his mouth with a satisfied noise before the melted strands of cheese break. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Unf</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  That’s so good. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So hot </span>
  </em>
  <span>but </span>
  <em>
    <span>so good</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard Tim Drake’s in your class.” Sometimes it’s a selfish interest but Lex is only human. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, but there’s a Tam Fox from a WE referral on my roster now. She’s a freakin’ genius, it’s great. Shit, this is hot.” He sniffs, because his sinuses have already begun to drain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tam Fox is his assistant.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, probably. I’d be stressed too if I was her.  Want some nachos? Someone on my server bet I wouldn’t eat ‘em with ghost peppers. Joke’s on them, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> pain.” Breathing in was a mistake. All at once his eyes well up and a flush is creeps up his neck. “Oh, no.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a slow and rolling heat and a sense of mortal dread and it escalates without reaching a plateau. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Conner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dad</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lex launches into saying something but Kon isn’t listening. He feels a little like he’s going to die or spontaneously combust or something even worse and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> is far more important than stock prices and market trends. He pivots toward the fridge. Nearly breaks the door handle off yanking it open. Drinks as much of the first gallon of milk he reaches as he can </span>
  <em>
    <span>without breathing in</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breathing, he’s realized, makes it worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets through almost three quarts before he has to stop. The acid feeling in his chest doesn’t fade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gasping, he interrupts, says in a rush, “I signed a confidentiality agreement when they hired me. There’s standards about like. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Professionalism</span>
  </em>
  <span>. As far as anyone’s concerned, Tim Drake’s not in my class.” Another swig of milk. And another. And a third. And before Lex can get another word in edgewise he smiles, sweating, “You sure you don’t want some of these? It tastes like flying feels but if it was painful but also I think I’m about to ascend to another plane of existence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... No, thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your loss. Good talk, but I gotta go dungeon crawl, the assassins’ guild of Navoor waits for no man.” He grabs the second, full gallon of milk and his tray of torture nachos and retreats beats a hasty retreat.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This entire fic is inspired by the yoga instructor I had two springs ago who I might have been a little in love with. I hope she's having a great day out there in the world.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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